The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: The Princess Chronicles
by Anne Louise 2000
Summary: EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PREVIEW OF- The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: The Princess Chronicles. I, Janine, report the amazing adventures Sherlock Holmes and I shared after he was shot. Murder, deception and true confessions! Read it for free while you can.
1. A True Princess, Installment 1

A note from Janine-

Dear readers, I must apologize. I had made it perfectly clear to my rather incompetent agent, Anne_Louise (now sacked), that a story of this importance _must_ be published in a mainstream media outlet of the highest possible integrity and quality. The Sun, for example. Or, in America, US Weekly. Imagine my dismay when I discovered these chronicles were not to grace those pages (yet), but to have their initial run here on FanFiction, a website of impeccable standards, to be sure, but devoted entirely to fiction. I assure you, readers, this is NOT fiction (more about that in the first installment). Every word is truth.

That clarified, I am thrilled to provide you lucky few with an exclusive peek at these adventures as I pursue world wide publication. Feel free to show your appreciation at the conclusion of the third adventure- major credit cards and PayPal accepted. Enjoy!

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Sherlock is Relentless

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: A True Princess, Installment I

"An encounter in a park."

Some months ago, I, Janine, related the tale of how I was cruelly used by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the world famous detective. How I was humiliated. Ravished time and time again. It ended by his being shot- Rightfully so! -when he broke into my place of work under the _pretense_ of asking for my hand in marriage. Although I was never told the specifics of that incident, it is obvious there was some sordid reason that had _nothing_ to do with wedded bliss. Since then, I have struggled to regain my dignity, one tiny step at a time, with only the incredible outpouring of support from you, dear readers, to sustain little me.

Lately, I have had inquiries regarding interactions with this detective _after_ he was shot. Namely-Does he continue this outrageous romance? Am I bothered without mercy? Dear readers- Yes. Sherlock, or "Sherl" (my "pet" name for him), apparently regards me as, "The one who got away," and is _relentless_. As a public service, I have pledged to document these encounters. Here- I give you:

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERL AND ME

At the onset, I must assure you that the events I reveal are entirely and without question, true. I have been visited by individuals connected with our legal system and have had the consequences of giving misleading information, explained in excruciating detail. Trust me- I tell the truth. I have no choice. In that spirit, I must disclose that when we were together, Sherl and I shared no direct physical intimacy. The facts were most of the time he was out nights with a case, stinking and, honestly, smelling horribly. So while there was deep emotional ties and terrible longing, there was nothing beyond. None.

Before I am accused- No. I did not_ lie_ in the previous story. If you will recall, the interviewer asked if Sherl and I had been intimate, and I answered, with complete frankness, "Oh, yes." I may not have specified the _type_ of intimacy we had shared, but intimacy, we had. Now I enjoy physical intimacy, but to be perfectly honest, even had he begged (and he came close a number of times, I could see it in his eyes) I would have been reluctant to submit without a token of his commitment. A ring. A special ring. A princess cut emerald ring of at least five carats surrounded by no fewer than eight half carat diamonds. Any lesser token (such as the one he brought to the office that night) would betray his reluctance to give himself wholly to me, and, in that case, how could I be expected to give myself wholly to him? Although there were other minor issues, this was, dear readers, the heart of the rift between Sherl and me. In these pages I will relate how Sherl got me this princess cut ring: a promise and a sincere proposal, and yes, Mycroft, every word is perfectly true!

It all began in a park, one lovely June afternoon. I was, I must admit, looking quite fetching in a hot pink Armani Collezioni dress (the jersey wrap, knee length with the detailing at the waist) and matching Valentino heels, going to a late cafe luncheon with Robert. Yes, there was life after Sherl. Robert was a brilliant up-and-coming businessman whom I had met on line just after the first story about Sherl and me broke. I had wanted to take a year or so "off the market" to "lick my wounds," but Robert was so very sweet and insistent, and he had a royal blue Maserati. Dear readers, expensive gifts, midnight rides in that beautiful car and tender rocking until the wee hours, for comfort's sake, go a long way to mend a tattered heart.

On that day in June, I had noticed, of late, a tiny cooling on Robert's part. My calls hadn't been returned as quickly as they once had. The bouquets were not quite as big. It was to be expected, of course. The sweaty, explosive phase of a relationship does fade, replaced by a more steady "throb", or so the experts say. Still, as I walked in the park that lovely afternoon, I was considering different ideas of breathing a bit more "spark" into things when I noticed a familiar dark haired figure on the path ahead of me, smoking a cigarette. Could it be? It was! Sherl! He was walking slowly and seemed to be looking to his left. I couldn't understand it, and then I realized-My heart skipped a beat-he must be watching _me_ from the corner of his eye! He intended for us to have a "chance" encounter. Well.

I stepped forward- But where had he gone? In my musing, I had taken my eye off of the slippery man, and now there was only a smoldering butt on the path. "Sherl?" I called. "Sherl, where are you?" He didn't answer, so I took a deep breath and was about to really belt it out when someone grabbed my arm and yanked me between two trees.

"For God's sake, shut up!" a voice hissed. Yes! Yes, dear readers. It was. Sherlock Holmes himself.

* * *

NEXT TIME: Sherl begs for my help.


	2. A True Princess, Installment 2

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Still in Love!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: A True Princess, Installment II

"Sherl begs for my help."

If you'll recall, dear readers, I had been strolling in the park when I was seized by Mr. Sherlock Holmes and tucked to a hiding place with him between two trees.

"Oh!" I cried. "There you are!"

"Shht!" a furious whisper. "I'm on a- Oh, God, Janine." His lips fairly caressed my ear. "Go away! I'm on a case!"

Do you see what I mean about being intimate? He wouldn't speak to just anyone like that.

"Ooh," I cooed. "Is it _dangerous_?" I wriggled closer to him.

"I'm watching a dog. That dog." He nodded to a sunlit patch of grass where a white Pomeranian sniffed about at the end of a diamond studded lead held by a man in a chauffeur's uniform. Sherl murmured, "Something quite important is happening right now."

What was happening was the dog had squatted and was "doing his business" on the lawn. I shrank back. "Disgusting!" I cried.

Sherl smiled. "Yes, but also quite important. Now watch. Quietly." The chauffeur removed a plastic sack from his pocket, secured the "product" and resumed their walk.

I was confused. "What of it?"

Suddenly, Sherl was gone, and I nearly fell arse over tit! When I got to my feet, I spotted him tailing dog and man. I marched to him and-

"Janine! Darling!" he cried and broke into a beatific smile, taking my arm rather firmly. "Walk with me. Do." My Sherl. We sauntered with our heads together, like lovers. He sniffed. "What's that scent?" he asked, blinking his eyes. "Eau De La Chatte?"

"It's Candy," I replied. "You're slipping. Darling." It wasn't like him to miss a perfume, but perhaps he wasn't accustomed to one of such quality.

He paused and sniffed again, wrinkling his nose. "Don't think so. It might have aspirations to Candy."

Silly, jealous boy. Of course it was Candy. It was a gift from- Oh! I stopped. We were still following that damned dog, walking _away _from the cafe. "We're going the wrong way!" I cried.

But Sherl had "honed in" on the chauffeur and, tugging on my arm, cried, "He ignored the rubbish bin! He still has the sack!"

"Sherl!" I pointed to the cafe. "We must go over _there_!"

"We must see where he takes it!" Sherl started forward, pulling me off balance.

I planted my Valentinos in the soil. "No, we do _not_!" I proclaimed, and I pulled _him _off balance. "Take me to the cafe!"

Gaining his feet, Sherl turned to me and stared: slowly up and slowly down. He lay me bare with his eyes. Oh- That always made me shiver and blush! Finally, he snorted. "Being seen with me won't help," he offered, flatly. "He gives you fake perfume. Let him go." My mouth dropped. You see, Sherl had read my mind exactly! What better way to breathe "life" into a flagging relationship than to have Robert see me with a world famous detective who was my former lover?

"Walk me there," I insisted.

Sherl sighed, sent a text and took my arm again. "My colleague will cover for me. Let's get this over with."

As we ambled (okay, it was a _quick_ amble), I reflected what a tricky boy Sherl was- to ambush and embrace me under the pretense of danger. Then all the tugging and stumbling and gazing. Advising me to "let go" of Robert! Classic romantic moves, almost farcical. Sherl was still, obviously, very much in love, and here I was, bringing him to meet his rival. They might come to blows!

However, when we arrived at the cafe- Dear readers, Robert wasn't there! We looked everywhere. "He must have been kidnapped!" I cried.

"He couldn't have stood you up," remarked Sherl as he gazed across the park, searching for Robert, the dear man. Sherl and I are like peas in a pod: like minds, like thoughts, like hearts.

At that moment, I had a brilliant idea. I seized my mobile and cried, "I'll take a selfie with you and send it to Robert. I'll tell him I can't meet him for lunch because I'm with you. You need me." Always best to "strike" first.

"Fine. As long as I can get back to my case," replied Sherl with a sigh. You see? Like minds.

"Smile!" I snapped the selfie, sent it with a pithy text then took Sherl's arm. "Now. Let's solve this case!"

* * *

NEXT TIME: "Sherl reveals his heart."


	3. A True Princess, Installment 3

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He Needs Me!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: A True Princess, Installment III

"Sherl reveals his heart."

To summarize our story so far: After waylaying me, Janine, Sherl begged me to help him solve a case involving a dog in a park, and I agreed, sacrificing a luncheon date with Robert, my current lover.

"Do you want to know what this case is about?" asked Sherl as we returned to the park. "Or does that matter?" He was texting to get the location of the dog.

"Of course," I assured him. "I'm listening. I'm here." At that moment, I spied a royal blue Maserati speeding down the street opposite us. Robert? Couldn't be. It was nowhere near the cafe, and there was a woman in the passenger's seat.

"Someone you know?" asked Sherl, interrupting my thoughts.

"Robert drives a car like that," I admitted, filled with worry. Where was Robert?

"Oh? What does Robert do?"

"He sells Maseratis."

"Ah." Sherl covered his envy with nonchalance. "Well. Shall I begin again?"

"What? Oh- The case. Sure."

With a sigh, "Lady Eunice Pettigaugh came to visit yesterday, concerned about her dog."

"The Pomeranian?"

"Yes. The little cat-dog. It had taken a sudden aversion to her chauffeur, which she didn't quite understand, as the man fed and walked the beast. The chauffeur was relatively new to the household, having been with them only six months, but the dog had been perfectly content until a fortnight ago. Then, it took to growling and snapping at the man, especially around meal times. Lady Pettigaugh was bewildered."

"Is she royalty?" I asked. I'm quite good with Royals.

"What does that matter? Have you been listening at all?" snapped Sherl. For all of his brains, my dear Sherl is actually quite shy and becomes flustered when interacting with persons of quality. Fortunately, I knew his "prickliness" only hid a quavering heart.

"Just asking," I replied, patting his cheek soothingly. "Yes, of course I've been listening. Dog bites man unexpectedly. What of it?"

Frowning, he continued, "Well, I didn't think much until Lady Pettigaugh revealed she had recently taken a necklace to be cleaned, and the jeweler found that the center piece, a ruby, had been pried out and replaced with a fake. An inventory revealed several of her pieces had received similar treatment. The puzzling part was that whenever the jewels were removed from the safe, they were constantly monitored by one of the servants, and Lady Pettigaugh had all the servants' persons and their rooms searched regularly. Nothing untoward was ever found. But-" Sherl's text alert sounded, and he glanced down. "Come!" We dashed toward a group of people standing in the distance- Well, he dashed. I couldn't very well dash in Valentinos.

When I finally arrived, I saw it was the police among others. The chauffeur and a "rough customer" were in handcuffs, and Sherl was wearing gloves and holding the sack of "dog product." I went directly to him. "I'm here, Sherl. Don't worry."

"Ah," he said.

"Who are your friends?" I asked. He always needed a cue or two.

With a sigh, "I think you know Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade and Sergeant Sally Donovan. And this is Molly Hooper, my colleague." He nodded at a terribly plain girl standing next to him. The poor thing had a face like a mutton chop.

"Where's John Watson?" I inquired. If you'll recall, John used to work with Sherl on his cases. That was before Sherl met me, of course, at John and his new wife Mary's wedding, where I was the Maid of Honor. Dear John and Mary! Such good friends. I was hosting their baby shower at my new cottage. In Sussex Downs!

"They have a doctor's appointment," replied Sherl, tightly.

At that moment, I realized I hadn't yet received Sherl's RSVP. "You're coming to the baby shower, aren't you? It's at my cottage. In Sussex Downs!"

"No. I'm not." He glanced at the others, gesturing to me. "I believe you all know pink Janine, a teller of fantastic stories, which got her that cottage. I ran into Janine earlier and haven't been able to shake her since. Now I must-"

But he must come to the shower! I was about to plead when Sherl lifted the sack of "dog product" and began to fondle and caress it in a most sensual manner. I felt my cheeks redden. He was communicating something. Something raw.

"Got it!" he exclaimed and pinched a hole in the plastic, maneuvered out a mucky stone and handed the dripping sack to Molly Hooper. "Water!" he commanded. Molly passed him a squeeze bottle, and he squoze, washing the muck away- Oh! A fiery red stone! A ruby, the size of an almond. It sparkled!

"Beautiful!" I gasped, and threw Sherl a meaningful look. "Pity it's not a princess cut."

Sherl was silent, but his expression spoke volumes.

"Sherlock?" It was Detective Inspector Lestrade. "How did you know the stone was in the dog?"

"Simple deductive reasoning," explained Sherl, dropping the stone into an evidence bag and peeling off his gloves. "The dog had turned on its caretaker, which indicated the caretaker was doing something it didn't like. Given the missing jewels, it wasn't difficult to deduce the chauffeur was using the dog as a mule to remove the stones from the house. He stuffed them down the poor beast's throat, then retrieved them when they passed through. Rather cunning, actually." My darling Sherl!

A loyal friend, I stayed as the police finished their "mop up." I was making a tiny check of things on my mobile when I heard Sherl say, "Ah- Thank you. You were quite necessary, as it turned out." I glanced up. Although Sherl was gazing in the direction of Molly Hooper, I knew he was addressing me.

"You're welcome," I answered, with feeling. When we were together, he had often stared out the window or at the telly or at his mobile when speaking with me: anything to lessen the impact of a strong feminine presence.

But Sherl didn't seem to hear. He kept looking at Molly Hooper. "Really," he insisted. He was standing rather close to her.

"This was nothing," she replied. "I'm glad you're healthy again."

"You mean the drugs?" Sherl shrugged. "For a case, that. I was always healthy." He moved closer.

Molly blushed, glanced down and muttered, "Good."

Sherl leaned in- He was going to kiss her! -but she stepped back with her hands up. "Stay clean, Sherlock," she said and strode away. He watched her go, sadly.

For the love of Pete! The lengths that boy will go to to make me jealous.

* * *

COMING SOON! A Bothered Princess: I explain how Sherl and I came together, and we solve a dreadful murder!


	4. A Bothered Princess, Installment 1

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How It All Began!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: A Bothered Princess, Installment I

"Reminiscence."

To summarize: In the first adventure, A True Princess, the great Sherlock Holmes ("Sherl" to his closest friends), my former lover, sought me, Janine, in the park one June day in order to "win me back." Alas for him, I had given my heart to a brilliant up-and-coming man in the luxury car business, Robert. Sherl was devastated, but soldiered on and begged me to help him solve a mystery. I agreed, and together we "busted" a ring of dangerous jewel thieves. Sherl was overcome with gratitude and longing, although he had too much pride to show it. Of course, we had further encounters.

The next occurred on the following day:

I had spent the night sighing and tossing. Alone. Remember, Robert had missed a luncheon appointment with me. He hadn't called or texted, and I was wrought. I rose with a feeling of foreboding and spent that morning (it was Saturday) trying to distract myself by shopping for a "bonnet and bootie" set to give Mary Watson's dear little one due at any time. I had to have just the right gift because I was hosting the baby shower in one week's time at my new cottage. In Sussex Downs!

That very day, in fact, I had a lunch "date" to plan the shower with Mary's other bridesmaids. I had been the Maid of Honor, and I felt my duty keenly. In anticipation of "hanging out" with "the girls," I was wearing a metallic blue lycra tube top, matching white lycra mini-skirt that flattered my legs, and a pair of darling strappy heeled sandals. Casual and fun!

Ignoring the admiring glances at the restaurant, I headed right for the "girls" table. Everyone had their salads and wine already, so I ordered mine and showed off my "booty": the most gorgeous smocked baby gown in delicate linen with matching bonnet and-yes!-booties. The girls were absolutely green.

"Gosh! Is it hand stitched?" Claudette tested the seams, tugging at them with a practiced hand. Claudette worked for the government, in customs, and was used to examining clothes and things. She was wearing a mannish tee shirt, slacks, and brogans. Rather like her uniform, actually.

"It better be," I declared. "I paid enough for it."

"It'll have to be dry-cleaned. Not really practical." That was Lily, pouting as usual. Oh, she did look cheap in that striped number and flip-flops! Lily was a personal assistant, like me, but she didn't work for the head of a very important giant international media conglomerate, as I did (not Mr. Magnussen. He was shot, mysteriously, shortly after Sherl was, but Mr. Magnussen had died, and now I worked for someone else just as important). Lily worked for an accountant in the office next to Mary, which _accounted_ for their friendship. So.

"It's just for special occasions," I informed her. "They don't have to actually put it on the baby to appreciate it." I whisked the set away and took out my I-Pad. "Now. What have you- Wait. Someone's missing. Trish! Where's Trish?" Oh no! Of all of them, Trish was the best. She worked in a bank and had gorgeous nails.

"Headache. Texted," Claudette mumbled as she chewed a tomato.

"What!" I checked my mobile. There it was, a text from Trish: _Can't today. Terrible headache. Flowers done. _Poor girl.

"It's her new boyfriend," smirked Lily, ever the cat. "They've been rather busy."

"Well." I lifted my chin. "Perhaps she'll bring him to the shower."

"Who are you bringing, Janine?" Lily was smiling. "Robert?"

That put the wind up. "What do you mean?" I asked, politely. "Tell me."

Lily just smiled wider and shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all. Are you taking anyone?"

"I haven't decided yet. I-" Just then, the waiter came with my lunch. I gulped down the wine but couldn't touch the salad. Where was Robert? Only one man could find him.

I raced through the planning session, and, four short hours later, I found myself at 221 Baker Street, my key to Sherl's flat in hand. Of course I had a key. I had his heart. As I stood there, memories washed over me in a slow warm wave. This is where it had begun.

At John and Mary's wedding, I had been instrumental in helping Sherl capture a dangerous murderer, and although I did spend remainder of the evening dancing with another man (Roderick, who to this day regrets going back to his fiancee), I could tell Sherl was intrigued. I must admit, I was flattered by the attentions of such a famous man.

Imagine my turmoil when, a few weeks after the wedding, I received a text- _Must see you. Come to 221 B Baker Street 11 o'clock Tuesday. _In my confusion, I was there at 10:30 that chill autumn evening in a Thomas Wylde scarlet silk dress, thin lambswool wrap and Jimmy Choos. I rang the bell to no avail. Nervously eyeing some "questionable" characters lurking nearby, I waited, shivering.

Suddenly, a cab drew to the curb, and Sherl stepped out. "Janine? Where were you this morning?"

"You texted," I replied. "Eleven o'clock. Here I am."

"I meant this morning- Ah. Just as well." He stepped closer to quivering little me. "Is it true you work for Charles Augustus Magnussen? As his personal assistant?"

"Yes," I breathed. "It's true!" And then- Oh, dear readers! How do I describe what happened next? It was as though we were magnets, thrust together by some invisible but irresistible force. We fell into a most passionate kiss. He was merciless!

Amid jibes of, "Oi!" "Wot's this?" "Getter room!" from the "questionable" characters, we tumbled inside, upstairs and into his flat. My wrap, my dress, and my shoes flew from me, and we found ourselves staggering into his bedroom.

"Wait here! One moment!" he gasped and stumbled away, closing the bedroom door. Clad only in my "intimates," I threw myself in his bed, every part of me plump and aching and- he didn't come back. I waited fifteen minutes before I stormed into the living room. It was empty. Sherl was gone. So was my wrap, my dress, and my shoes.

* * *

NEXT TIME: Sherl outs a rat!


	5. A Bothered Princess, Installment 2

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Betrayal!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: A Bothered Princess, Installment II

"Sherl outs a rat!"

To summarize: Beside myself with worry for my missing lover, Robert, I had gone to beg Sherl for help. The visit brought back bittersweet memories of when Sherl had first seduced me, only to abandon me in his flat without any means of leaving in decency. Of course, I spent the night. What could I do? He wanted me for his bed- Obviously. So. To return to our story:

Sherl came creeping back the next morning, saying he had had an urgent text, had taken my things quite by accident. He was now exhausted and filthy. Couldn't. It was a scene that was to be repeated time and time again. I was kept on the brink, always- Sherl claimed it was the case that stole his time and "fire": a despicable blackmailer, but he would reveal no details. "You're doing enough," he'd say. "Just being here." But over time, I came to realize that it was his very passion that kept us apart. Although he had to have me close, he was afraid that if he saw the thing through, he would slip into a pit of desire and lose himself. Already, he couldn't live without me, demanded to know where I was at all times. He did take me to all the best restaurants and shows, showered me with kisses, confidences, declarations of love. I felt cherished. And yet, I wanted.

We carried on until that dreadful night when Sherl appeared at my work with that, frankly, inferior ring (he knew better!), and was shot. But that was over six months ago. Now, here I was back at 221 Baker Street, awash in memories, desperate for help.

Out of force of habit, I didn't bother with the bell, simply came up and let myself in with my key. Sherl was in his armchair, glaring at his mobile and texting furiously. It was exactly what he had done most of the time we were together.

"Sherl!" I announced. "You have to help me find Robert." He froze. Then his text alarm went off, and he fired out another. I stamped my foot. "I mean it, Sherl. Robert is missing. I'm worried sick."

"You've still got your key," he muttered.

"Sherl- Focus. Robert. He hasn't answered my texts or calls."

Sherl's text alarm went off again.

I marched to him, covered the screen and cried, "This is a problem! I need your help."

"I'm trying to make dinner arrangements-" he lifted off my hand (any excuse to touch me) "-with a very stubborn-" he sent another text and sighed. "Fine." He handed me his mobile. "Ring Robert with mine. He won't recognize the number." I was about to ask what difference that would make, but my eye caught the text history:

_Dinner. 8:00. I shall fetch you -SH_

_No -MH_

_Why not? -SH_

_Busy -MH_

_Doing what? -SH_

_None of your business -MH_

_When will you be through? -SH_

Oh, that Mycroft Holmes. I punched in Robert's number. It rang- was answered! "'lo!" Robert.

Sherl seized the mobile and put it on speaker. "Hello, Robert," he said in a "smarmy" voice. "This is Ruben Smothers of the Crawford Roses hotel. I'm pleased to inform you that you have won a free night's stay for two at our luxury honeymoon suite with complimentary champagne and chocolate dipped strawberries. Is there a night in the next month or so that suits?"

"God, yes!" Robert sounded excited, the bastard. "Could it be tonight? Tell me quick- my brand new lady friend is in the shower-"

"You shit!" I screamed. "I'll rip your cock off!" In my anguish, I had no idea what I was saying. Robert ended the call, of course, and I threw myself into Sherl's arms and burst into tears.

"Oh! Oh, dear," murmured Sherl, backing away. He was so sweet, holding me at arm's length to give me some "space." At that moment, his mobile rang, and he answered, "Lestrade! … Yes. … Oh? … No, it's perfectly fine- A Godsend, really, I'll be there right away. … Right." He ended the call and ran to the door, calling, "Been a murder- Got to go- Lock the door behind you."

"Stop!" I shouted. "You can't leave me!"

"I've got to go-"

"I know your methods! I'm coming with." I checked my mascara in my compact- not bad -and threw back my shoulders. "I'm ready."

"Fine," he said and rolled his eyes, muttering something about his key.

He would put in a nice show. This is what he had wanted all along!

* * *

NEXT TIME: A dreadful murder!


	6. A Bothered Princess, Installment 3

A note from Janine-

Dear readers, it has been brought to my attention that, in your reviews, there have been several comments concerning whether I "see" or "observe." If you will kindly check your dictionaries, you will learn that these terms are interchangeable- I see. _Therefore_, I observe. And vice versa. How these Chronicles "sparked" a conversation about English synonyms is a tad mystifying, I must admit. I can only fathom this is a veiled inquiry into the state of my eyesight. Readers- How touching! I assure you all that my vision is perfect, as are all my faculties. I am having a good hair day as well. Thank you very much! -Janine

* * *

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Comfort in My Time of Need!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: A Bothered Princess, Installment III

"A dreadful murder!"

After cleverly "outing" the unfaithful Robert, Sherl recruited me to solve a murder with him, to help me get "back in the saddle" and, frankly, because I was an invaluable inspiration. As we raced to the crime scene, I planned what to do with the things Robert had left at my flat, and Sherl texted, as usual. When we arrived, he turned to me. "Why don't you stay in the cab. Or go home. Or anywhere else. I'll-" he sighed "-I'll pay the fare."

What a caring man, wanting to save little me from distress but hating to see me go. "No," I answered, bravely. "You need me."

We were at a high rise office-block. In the lobby, the police were waiting with a man in a cheap suit, a guard and a cleaning woman. Detective Inspector Lestrade glanced up. "Sherlock- Oh." He smiled at me. "Well, hello!"

"Don't," said Sherl, darkly.

Lestrade seemed puzzled. "Don't what?"

"Just don't," replied Sherlock. You see? Protecting me- My hero!

Lestrade smiled again, and then grew serious. "This case has got us all scratching our heads. The bank's loan officer, Mr. Pincheur, was shot in a locked room early this morning, and no, this time the killer couldn't have come up the side of the building, these windows don't open. The office has no connecting doors, and the corridors are monitored with cameras. No one had come through them for at least an hour prior. There's a bullet hole through the window, so it looked like a sniper at first, but forensics says the entrance wound in our victim is low and the exit wound high, so unless he had been upside down, that bullet couldn't have killed him. Here-" he waved at the others, "-is Officer Benton, Mr. Dennis, the building manager-" he was the one in the cheap suit "-Mr. Oliver, the guard, and Miss Purdy, the cleaning woman who heard the shot and found the body."

"Perhaps the victim was doing yoga," I offered. "Downward dog would have put him upside down." Sometimes, the police needed a "lay" person's fresh eye.

Inspector Lestrade coughed but managed, "I- I hadn't thought of that."

"Oh, downward dog is a fantastic position," I assured him. I was quite familiar with downward dog!

Lestrade started coughing in earnest, and Sherl strode to the lift. "Come everyone!" he called. "To the crime scene."

On the way up, Sherl questioned the cleaning woman about what she had heard.

"It was a clink and a thump, sir," she claimed. "A clink and a thump. I heard it as I passed 'is door. I had to call Gordon to open the door, didn't I?"

"Gordon?" Sherl asked, glancing at Lestrade, who was still recovering from his coughing spell.

"Ahem. Right. Gordon," Lestrade waved at the guard. "Gordon Oliver."

Sherl frowned and turned back to the cleaning woman. "Didn't you have a key?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?" demanded Sherl. We had arrived at the thirtieth story, and Lestrade led us down the corridor.

"Mr. Pincheur's firm employed their own cleaning service, sir," explained the building manager. "Security concerns." We stopped in front of an office, very posh, roped off with crime scene tape.

"But Gordon had a key," returned Sherl, staring sharply at the guard.

"Well, of course he had a key, Sherlock, he was the guard," cried Lestrade. "He's not a suspect. When the shot was heard, he was at the security station downstairs monitoring the cameras. We have him on tape."

Sherl glanced at the building manager and asked, "Mr Pincheur was alone in his office? His staff hadn't come in yet? No one with a key?"

"Yes, sir," answered the building manager. "The building was quite empty."

"The only one with a key, then," insisted Sherl, walking around the guard, inspecting him up and down. Oh, that brought back memories! Suddenly, my darling barked, "How long have you been on the job?" The guard jumped.

"Sherlock." Lestrade sounded annoyed. "He's not a suspect."

Sherl smirked. "Right." He turned back to the guard. "How long?"

"Fortnight, sir," admitted the guard.

"I thought the uniform had a newish look," replied Sherl with a nod. "Empty your pockets."

Lestrade started, but my tough dear silenced him with an upheld palm, saying, "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." For Pete's sake, that again? Sherl leaned closer to the guard and ground out, "Empty them."

Looking rather ill, the guard reached in his pockets and scruffled about, pulling out gum and keys and the like. When he removed his mobile, Sherl seized it. "A throwaway?" he remarked. "Odd choice for a modern young gent like yourself."

"My mobile was stolen, wasn't it?" the guard whined.

"Really?" Sherl sniffed and turned to the cleaning woman. "Miss Purdy, would you describe the sound you heard again?"

"A clink, sir. And a thump."

"Like this?" With a flourish, Sherl pressed the call button on the mobile: _Chip!_ _Whump!_ Oh, God!

"That was it! That was the sound I heard!" cried the cleaning woman.

"What the hell?" muttered Lestrade and bent over to peer in the vent opening near the floor. He started tugging at the cover.

"Shall we hear it once more?" My clever darling pressed again: _Chip! Whump!_

"Arrest him!" cried Lestrade. "Arrest that guard." As the officer slapped on the handcuffs, Lestrade wrenched the vent cover free, reached in the opening and, using a pen, drew out an I-Phone, two aluminum cans stuffed with rags and- Oh! -a gun!

"Alright, Sherlock," sighed Lestrade, straightening. "Out with it, then."

"It was simplicity itself," replied Sherl.

"Yeah, yeah. Come on."

Sherl stood a bit taller. "Early this morning, our guard, Mr. Oliver entered the office the office with that gun and those homemade silencers-" he gestured at the aluminum cans "-and shot Mr. Pincheur, recording the event on his I-Phone. He erased the gunshot but kept the bit where the body fell- Our _thump_ -then shot a hole through the window recording that as well- The _clink_. He shifted the recordings to the reverse order, so that it became-" he pressed the button yet a third time: _Chip! Whump! "-_sounding as though a bullet came through the window and caused Mr. Pincheur to fall dead. Mr. Oliver saved this as his I-Phone ringtone, placed the device with the rest of the incriminating evidence in the vent and returned to his station. When he saw Miss Purdy here enter the corridor on the camera, he simply rang his I-Phone with this disposable, providing a false time of death and giving himself an alibi."

"Well, then we should have a video him going in the office," exclaimed Lestrade.

"Oh, I doubt it," replied Sherl. "Those cameras are arranged to miss this door and the vent opening."

"But why?" I wondered. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"Here is someone who could help with that." Sherl was gazing down the corridor at a woman, rather disheveled, rushing toward us. "My colleague, Molly Hooper," he announced. "Molly, what would you say is Mr. Oliver's customary profession?" He nodded at the glowering guard.

Molly paused, catching her breath, and glanced at the handcuffed man. "Guard?" she guessed.

"Look at his hands," hinted Sherl.

She studied them, and I peered over her shoulder: the guard's hands were covered in scars, burns and cuts. "Chef," Molly declared.

"Bravo!" cried Sherl. "Chef. And the restaurant business is notoriously risky. My guess is Mr. Pincheur refused to extend a loan and was killed in revenge."

"Bastard," snarled the guard. "Killing was too good for him."

"Take him away," Lestrade ordered, and the officer led the guard off.

Sherl smiled. "Well, thank you, Molly. That-" he stopped. Molly was glaring.

"I came here-" she said, flatly "-from work because you texted it was a matter of life and death."

"I thought it was," protested Sherl. With a sideways look, "Someone did die."

"I am on the verge of blocking you!" She turned and started walking away.

"Molly! No! Don't!" Sherl rushed in front of her. "I'll make it up to you. There's time for an early supper before you must do whatever it is you're doing tonight." Oh, God! MH meant Molly Hooper, not Mycroft Holmes. He was asking _her_-

"Sherl!" I cried. "I need you tonight." I know, dear readers, mustn't be "easy." I usually played things "closer to the chest," but Sherl wanted me to extract him from this "entanglement," I could tell. Sure enough, he glanced at me with a face filled with emotion.

"Well," Molly snapped. "You appear to have plans. Goodbye." She stepped round him and stomped off. Jealousy. So unflattering.

Sherl watched her leave with sheep's eyes, toying with me yet again. "You're available," I stated. "And I need you."

"Unfortunately, Janine, I believe the police will want me to give a detailed statement regarding this case," replied Sherl. He glanced at Lestrade. "Isn't that right?"

"Oh, no, Sherlock." Lestrade shook his head with a smile. "We've got it all in hand. You're good to go."

"Wonderful!" I cried.

"Oh, Lestrade is being overly kind, I'm afraid. If I am _ever _to help the police again, I must finish this thing properly. I'll be there _all night,_" insisted Sherl, staring at Lestrade.

"Right, Sherlock. There might be a thing or two you can do for us. Fancy a bit of filing?"

Sherl glanced at me and shrugged. "Sorry. Duty calls."

My dear devoted darling.

* * *

COMING SOON! The next adventure- The Princess Cut: A poisoner!- And -My dreams come true!


	7. The Princess Cut, Installment 1

A note from Janine-

Dear readers, let me first sincerely apologize for the small "faux-pas" when the wrong installment was temporarily posted. Fortunately, one "sharpie" among you alerted us to the error, and it was rectified immediately, thank you. Anne_Louise, who had been reinstated, is again sacked.

In the meantime, it has been brought to my attention that in your reviews, some of you have expressed- how do I put it? -skepticism that I am entirely accurate with the facts of these tales. One "joker" even wrote, "I think things are not the way they seem." For heaven's sake, people, it's on the internet! Of course it's true. In a few short weeks, these Chronicles will run in _newspapers,_ and they don't print lies, my friends.

On the other hand, I was heartened by others' deeply held belief that I have a "good heart." This is true, absolutely. I have nothing but love and appreciation for my fellow human beings, those blessed with beauty, wealth and fame, and, well, everyone- we all have a place in the "great scheme" of things. Do read on! In the next four installments, you will see many, many examples of my kindness and generosity to all people, regardless of how deserving. It's just who I am. -Janine

* * *

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Poisoned!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: The Princess Cut, Installment I

"Sherl will come to my baby shower! In Sussex Downs!"

Oh, dear readers, we now come to the most difficult adventure I shared with my dear Sherl. It was also the most wonderful, for it was in this adventure that a princess cut emerald ring of at least five carats (mine has six point two), surrounded by no fewer than eight half carat diamonds (ten!), and a sincere proposal regarding marriage from Mr. Sherlock Holmes became _mine_.

The whole thing began on Thursday afternoon, two days before I was to host a terrific party, Mary Watson's baby shower, in my new cottage, You Know Where. Mary is a receptionist for her husband, Dr. John Watson, so, wearing a St. John floral silk charmeuse dress with teal Ferragamo pumps, I went to their office to review some last minute details and to deliver a charming antique silver rattle I had "snapped up" "on a whim." When I arrived, Mary (large- glowing, but large) was chatting with Lily, one of the other bridesmaids (although _not _the Maid of Honor), there to deliver a plate of muffins (a rather common brand) and looking "loose" in a mid-thigh minidress. There were hugs and kisses all around, and I gave Mary the rattle. She loved it.

"Wouldn't meet today's safety code," sniped Lily, envious, of course. She left directly afterwards.

Mary needed the loo, so she asked me to mind the phone (such was our a beautiful, trusting friendship). On her desk was a basket of apples sporting a card that read: _To the apple of my eye! Claudette- _yet another bridesmaid. How nice. -and I hid the nasty muffins behind them. Must prevent indigestion!

Mary had just returned when an old woman, John Watson and Trish came out of the examining room. If you'll recall, Trish was the bridesmaid who had missed our luncheon earlier that week. Today, she was wearing the cutest low cut leopard print number with sheer paneling and Charlotte Olympia pumps— Quite daring! Of course, she was thrilled to see me and we absolutely hugged and kissed! She introduced me to the old woman, her mum, and I showed off my antique, the silver rattle.

"Baby'll choke on them things," grunted Trish's mum, pointing to the delightful little bangles on the rattly end.

Stamping her Charlotte Olympia, Trish snapped, "Mum!" and, smiling, John stepped between them.

"All set then," he assured them. "No changes with the diet or medications. Nothing to worry about."

Trish smiled back. "Thanks for seeing us on such short notice, John. Such a relief."

"Big waste of time, if you ask me," muttered her mum. "Which you didn't."

"Sorry you had to wait so long," said Mary. "Thanks for watching the desk, Janine, and thanks, Trish for watching it before. John, dear?" She patted John's hand. "You've got just ten minutes for lunch."

"This will have to do then." John took an apple- not a muffin -and retreated into his office.

The old woman snorted. "Made the poor man miss his lunch," she groused.

"Out," Trish ordered and started scooting her to the door.

"Can't you visit?" I called. I liked Trish.

"Sorry. Got to go."

After they had swept away, I gave the rattle to Mary and suggested she display it one of those charming box-frames. A rich mahogany would set off the silver quite nicely. "That sounds beautiful," she agreed, opened her desk drawer- and froze.

"What is it?" I asked. Mary didn't answer. Instead, she pulled the drawer to its full extent, reached in the back and drew out a wicked looking syringe. She stared at the apples, and, with a cry, raced into the office. I followed, of course. John was hunched in a corner, pale, trembling and unable to talk. The apple, less two bites, was rolling on the floor!

It was strychnine poisoning. Someone had injected the apples with rat poison. Mary, bless her "eagle eye," had noticed her drawer organizer was slightly off center, found the syringe, noticed needle pricks in the apples and put it together in the nick of time. Because John hadn't ingested much poison, the doctors said he would make a full recovery. I was in the hospital, being a "brick" for Mary and "handling" the police in the person of Detective Inspector Lestrade, when my darling Sherl came tearing in.

"Where's John!" he cried. Mary nodded to the hospital room, and Sherl flew inside. He emerged a few minutes later, shaken. "What happened?"

Lestrade, Mary and I "filled him in" on the details. The poisoner had purchased and doctored the apples, and then had them delivered by a service. Claudette, of course, denied any involvement in it, and as there were no fingerprints on either the basket or the fruit, no evidence to suggest she had been. The syringe did have traces of strychnine and apple juice, but no fingerprints, save Mary's.

"I'll tell you one thing," Mary declared. "That syringe wasn't there when I came in this morning. My drawer organizer was exactly where I had left it the night before."

"So it was planted by someone during the course of the day," mused Sherl. "A patient. A female patient. Poisoning is a woman's crime. But how would she get into your drawer?"

"Oh, that wouldn't be hard," Mary answered. "I go to the loo about six times an hour now, don't I?"

Suddenly, an idea struck me. "I'll bet it was Lily. Did you ask her to mind the desk?"

Mary nodded and looked troubled, but Sherl said, "Let's not jump to conclusions. It could have been anyone from John's past, or yours." He gazed at Mary, who glanced away.

"We'll do a thorough investigation," announced Lestrade, closing his notebook. "I'll ask you ladies to remain in town-"

"No!" I cried. "The baby shower! In Sussex Downs! It's on Saturday!"

"Ooh, I don't know," said Mary, shaking her head.

Lestrade shrugged. "Sussex Downs would be all right. It might be good to get out of town. Just don't leave England." He stepped aside to speak with an officer.

"It was probably one of the bridesmaids, actually," Mary remarked in a low voice. "They all visited that morning, except Claudette, and they're a bloodthirsty bunch." She was about to say, "Present company excepted, of course," but we were interrupted by that terribly plain Molly Hooper, pushing her way into our waiting room.

"I heard! Is he all right?"

"Molly!" exclaimed Sherlock, his eyes lighting. "You are a highly trained physician, able to recognize and treat poisonings _and _to deliver a child, in a pinch."

"She's a doctor?" Lestrade glanced at us from his conversation. "A medical doctor? I thought she was a lab tech."

"A common error," replied Sher, gazing at the blushing girl. "Molly, you must accompany me to a party in Sussex Downs. You are precisely who we need. Who I need."

"Sherl?" I gasped. "You're coming?" My darling!

"Yes. Molly and I. We'll all leave tomorrow morning."

"Wait- What? I will?" Molly stared. "Where?"

Party crasher.

* * *

Next time: My beautiful cottage!


	8. The Princess Cut, Installment 2

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My Beautiful Cottage!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: The Princess Cut, Installment II

"On the brink"

To summarize: Sherl begged me to take him to my cottage- in Sussex Downs! -for a wonderful party I was hosting. For Mary's little one. A poisoner had made an attempt on John's life, and Sherl claimed he needed to protect John and Mary, as the poisoner might make another attempt. For the more mundane duties, we were also taking Molly Hooper (we each have a place).

The next morning, all five of us piled in the Watson's car. Because John was still shaky, Mary couldn't fit behind the wheel, Sherl wanted to think and I don't drive, the chauffeuring duties fell to Molly Hooper, who was a bit snippy about it, if you ask me.

It took some doing to find the place. I hadn't actually been there, although I researched it scrupulously: an old tractor shed, refurbished in the fifties as a guest house then untouched for years, leaving it, "Enchantingly rustic." Of course it was fully detached with two bedrooms, a sitting room, bath, kitchen, and was semi furnished to boot. In the yard, a garden, wooden fence and bench. My cottage!

I was thrilled when we finally found it. We all were. The adverts had said, "needs a bit of work" but all I saw was authentically faded paint, picturesque cracks in the walls and foundation, and a scenic pitted path to the front door (the barest smidgeon of mud). Divine! As I stepped from the car, I blinked from the pungent scent of the country and listened to the musical _hucks_ and _whees_ of the pigs next door. Somehow, the advert had omitted the fact that the property bordered on a piggery.

There hadn't been any snaps of the inside, so when I entered, I felt like a child at Christmas. The appliances, table and chairs in the cozy kitchen were from the charming fifties. In the otherwise empty sitting room, the couch and armchair sagged with a "shabby chic," "old world" grandeur, and in the master bedroom, a king sized mattress lay on the floor (alas, there was no frame or other furniture). Beneath the well-loved linoleum and carpets, I was assured plank flooring. The color scheme was shrimp pink and pale lime, popular in the fifties, and there was a faint dusting of black mold beginning at the baseboards and climbing halfway up the walls to complete the "rural tableau."

"Ah," remarked Sherl, observing it over my shoulder. "Quite the project."

"Oh, God!" I cried. With delight! As Molly Hooper and Mary Watson unpacked the car, made the beds and began scrubbing, Sherl and John stepped out to explore the grounds (Sherl was keen on the beehives), and I rang cleaning and gardening services, house painters, remodelers, furniture and appliance sellers and beauty shops in the area, anxious to "establish" myself.

Finally, we were all relaxing after a late supper.

I was finishing some last minute details when John announced, "We must talk about tomorrow."

"Yes." Mary nodded. "I brought my files." She stepped to the master bedroom (I had generously donated that to the expecting couple. I would take the guest room, which contained only a small double mattress on a frame and tiny chest of drawers. Molly would have the couch, and Sherl- Well, Sherl could sleep where he liked) and returned with four or five thick file folders each with a picture of one of the bridesmaids clipped on the front. My picture was quite flattering.

"What's all this?" I asked as Sherl, John and Molly reached for the folders (my nails were nearly dry).

"Oh." Mary gazed directly at me. "You see, I believe it's good to have information on one's friends, so that one knows things. Like what to give her for her birthday. Or when that birthday might be. Things like that." She smiled. Clever Mary. What a good idea!

Sherl sniffed, reading. "You chose your friends carefully, Mary. Banking, media, customs- But why this one?" He lifted the folder with the rather tarty picture of Lily.

"Now, that is a case of keeping your friends close but your enemies closer. She- Oh-" Mary fell silent, glancing at me.

"Ah." Sherl nodded, also glancing at me. "I think I'll step out for a moment." Taking an ashtray, he moved to the door. I recognized the invitation and blew on my fingers. I would join him as soon as I could slip away unnoticed.

"Do you have one of these on me?" asked John, flipping through another folder.

Mary shifted her gaze to him. "Well-" Her answer was cut short by a loud squealing, and Sherl burst inside.

"Janine! A pig's rooting through your garden!"

"Shit!" I cried (already, I was speaking "country"), and dashed out. The pig had pushed its way through the fence- I could see where it was broken -and was cheerfully rampaging through my lovely landscaping. It took me the better part of an hour to drive it out.

By the time I returned, filthy and dripping, John and Mary were in bed, and Sherl and Molly were huddled together, talking over the folders. I crept by to make repairs.

Two hours later, I was bathed and rather ready in my silk and lace keyhole nightdress and kimono. I slipped into the sitting room where Sherl and Molly talked on, although the folders were closed and pushed to the side.

"Sherl," I murmured, leaning against the doorway. "I'm cold."

He frowned. "It is a bit nippy, isn't it? Doesn't the heater work?"

"Here, take this." Molly handed me the extra blanket from her couch.

"Ah," remarked Sherl. "There you are. Goodnight, Janine. Now," he returned to Molly, "where were we?"

"Goodnight," I muttered and slipped to bed. I had seen the look in his eye. He would be in later.

About four o'clock in the morning, I woke with a start from a dream: great, fleshy beasts, wet and grunting. As I remembered where I was, I realized I was alone. Where was Sherl? I must have fallen asleep, exhausted from chasing that pig, and Sherl, not wanting to disturb me, had returned to the sitting room. With Molly Hooper.

Immediately, I began to worry. What had happened in there? I knew how it worked: a fingertip touches an arm. A palm covers a hand. A glance, and the space between your lips and his grows smaller and smaller- I leapt up and with a throbbing heart, crept to see.

The sitting room was still and shadowed, illuminated only by the grey predawn light glowing through the window. Sherl was fast asleep in the armchair, fully dressed, his head sagged to one side and a thin trickle of drool lined the corner of his mouth. Molly, also in her clothes, was snoring softly on the couch. Ah. As I crept back to bed, I was reassured. I wasn't the only one kept on the brink!

* * *

Next time: A fabulous party!


	9. The Princess Cut, Installment 3

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Betrayal! Again!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: The Princess Cut, Installment III

"A fabulous party!"

To summarize: After John Watson had been nearly poisoned, Sherl, Mary, and John- oh, and Molly Hooper- came with me to my charming cottage, where I was hosting a wonderful party. A baby shower, for Mary. Sherl claimed it was to catch the poisoner in a second attempt, but I suspected he and I would be sending everyone else home and finishing the weekend with each other.

I woke to a glorious day, the sun streaming in. Of course it was glorious- It was Sussex Downs! I rolled out of bed to get ready. Two and a half hours later, I strolled into the kitchen looking incredible in a Cavali summer number in black with lace, animal print and floral paneling and Geiger snake print heels.

"Thank God!" Mary nearly knocked me over to get to the loo.

"She's had to squat in the yard eight times so far," remarked John, sipping his coffee. "Good thing your shrubbery is overgrown."

"Why didn't you knock?"

"We did."

Oh. Well. How was one to blow dry one's hair without a bit of noise?

The plan was for the cleaning crew and gardeners to work on the place that morning, and then the caterers would appear for set up. The party would start at one and wind up at four, so everyone could get back to London in time for cocktails.

We waited, anxious. Nothing much happened that morning except that the toilet overflowed a bit, and Mary had to pump frantically with the plunger. Oh, and Molly Hooper opened a kitchen cabinet and a squirrel leapt out and snared itself in her hair (that was a riot- she was screaming and grabbing at her head while the poor thing grew more and more tangled), but, really, the only truly notable event was that I cleaned Sherl's filthy ash tray, and he practically exploded.

There I was, polishing away, when- "What did you do!" Sherl shouted. He snatched the thing, dashed outside and began to smoke furiously. Had three going at the same time!

"Give it up, Sherlock! Just set the pack on fire," called John from the window. With a malevolent glare, Sherl did exactly that: dumped the remaining cigarettes into the ashtray, lit them and stood over the smoldering mess, breathing in the smoke with a expression of bliss tinged with sadness.

When it was done, he came in with the full ashtray and placed it on a top shelf, warning, "I need that. Don't touch it." Then he reached out a hand to John. "Give me the car keys. I'm out of cigarettes."

The party began without a hitch. The bridesmaids drifted in early, of course. Claudette wore jean shorts, a tee shirt and brogans (always so casual!), and Lily in her usual "slag rags": short skirt, high heels and low cut blouse. Trish came later in a chic pair of black satin shorts, ankle strap heels and a floating white crepe shirt (you could see nearly everything!), daringly unbuttoned to there- So fun!

The party was fabulous. Drinks flowed. Laughter rippled. Everyone was jealous of my gorgeous cottage. And the food! -Full bar, pate and sushi platters, cold meats, Caesar's salad, tiramisu. Mary was circulating and glowing, but I noticed she was eating only crackers. I pulled her aside. "Are you afraid of being poisoned?" I asked. "I could sneak you a plate directly from the kitchen."

"Oh, no." She smiled kindly, stroking her stomach. "I can't eat any of this. Pregnant." Bending close, she murmured, "Thanks so much for hosting."

Of course! A smashing success. When four o'clock rolled around, there was a collective sigh of regret. Party's over. Time for cocktails!

Sherl stood on a chair and clinked a wineglass. "Everyone! May I have your attention, please? The taxis are here to remove you to the train station. I would ask the bridesmaids to remain behind, please. We have a special surprise."

In short order, the room cleared, and we bridesmaids were perched in a row like schoolgirls. Pacing somberly, Sherl announced, "For one of of you, this will come as no surprise. John was poisoned two days ago. Strychnine." Everyone gasped. "Someone sent a basket of apples injected with rat poison and tried to blame Mary by planting the syringe used to inject the apples in her desk. That someone is one of you." Lily, I noticed, was looking down guiltily.

Sherl continued, "We believed the poisoner would make a second attempt at this party." I realized then how clever I had been to select food Mary wouldn't eat. "It wouldn't have been the food," Oh. "Too many people. Instead, the killer chose to poison something the Watsons wouldn't necessarily ingest right away: toiletries. Molly Hooper-" He waved at Molly working away at test tubes and science things in the kitchen "-has been testing those items. Molly?"

"Arsenic," she answered, looking up. "In the toothpaste."

"Ah yes," Sherl remarked. "A slow poison, weakening the victims before finishing them off. Diabolical, considering there is a child involved." My avenging angel! "Because this primitive shack-" Shack! "-has but one bath, the Watsons kept their toiletries next to their bed. Prior to this party, I sprinkled the floor of their bedroom with cigarette ash, undetectable on that hideous carpet. The ash would mark anyone who visited the Watson's bedroom. I would ask each of you to lift your feet, so that I might inspect your soles."

Slowly, Claudette, then Lily and finally Trish lifted their feet. With keen eyes, Sherl walked down the line: Lily, Claudette, Trish- When he came to me, he stopped. "Well?"

"Me?" I asked.

"Yes."

Fine. I lifted my feet. He glanced and snorted. "Ash." He pointed at Lily, "Ash." At Claudette, "Ash." At Trish, "No ash." Trish! Sherl spoke slowly- "Each of you has reason to want trouble for the Watsons. Let's begin with you, Janine. Why were you in the bedroom?"

Now dear readers, there was a perfectly sound reason, and Sherl knew it, no doubt. He was simply trying to get everyone else into the "swing of things" by starting with little me. Part of my position as a personal assistant to the head of a large media conglomerate was to "keep a finger" on the "pulse" of the "social scene." It is a well known fact that people were more comfortable when they felt "unobserved"-

"She was peering through the window, taking pictures of drunks and lechers for her paper." Lily! "I know." She stared at Sherl. "I was in the closet, spying on her."

"Spying on someone," threw back Sherl. My angel! He reached in his pocket and drew out four little metal discs. When Lily saw them, she went silent.

"These bugs," said Sherl, flatly, "were planted in Mary's clothing, shoes and handbag. It seems you wanted to keep an ear on our Mary." John slipped his arm round his wife. I was confused at first but- Oh! Lily must work for another media giant, the sneak!

"We may not have got them all," continued Sherl, "but we shall be wary."

Lily pursed her lips and kept mum, a proper little bitch.

"Which takes us to Claudette." Sherl stepped in front of her, and she set her jaw, trembling. "Your bank account fluctuates quite a bit. One wonders in what sort of shenanigans a customs agent could be involved?"

"It was football!" burst out Claudette. "I do pools at work! I was listening to the news!"

Sherl fixed his eyes on her for a breathless moment. "That's fairly pathetic," he remarked, finally.

"I know!"

"All right." Sherl stepped in front of Trish. "And now-"

"I had no ash on my shoes." Trish was cool.

"You have uncomfortable shoes. Take them off."

Sherl and Trish locked eyes. Then, "All right." She tossed her hair and undid her straps. Between her toes- Ash.

Sherl nodded. "Two years ago, you were romantically involved with your boss, a Mr. Tony Humphrely. Someone leaked compromising pictures of him with a number of women to his wife and supervisor. He was transferred to the office in Fargo, North Dakota which effectively ended your relationship."

"Those were faked!" Trish cried.

"No they weren't." It was Mary.

Trish stared. "You took those?"

"You were on the verge of being sacked," Mary returned. "And then you would have been no good to- And I am your friend."

Trish held her gaze a beat, and then shrugged. "Fancy," she remarked.

Sherl leaned closer. "You knew about this."

"No."

"You were furious."

"No!"

"You poisoned those apples and tried to blame Mary for revenge!"

"I didn't! Look!" Trish reached round her neck. "I've got a new boyfriend, haven't I!" She drew out a necklace with a ring hanging on it. "See! He gave me a ring!"

My heart dropped. It was a princess cut emerald ring. Surrounded by precious little diamonds.

* * *

Next time: My dreams come true!


	10. The Princess Cut, Installment 4

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Sherl Proposes!

The Further Adventures of Sherl and Me: The Princess Cut, Installment IV

"My dreams come true!"

To summarize: As Sherl questioned the bridesmaids about poisoning the Watson's toothpaste during the bridal shower, Trish showed us a gift from her new boyfriend: a princess cut emerald ring surrounded by little half-carat diamonds. My ring. My Robert.

"That's what I was doing in the bedroom," Trish admitted. "Talking dirty with my new boyfriend. He's a bit mad for it."

Oh, how I missed-

"What a beautiful ring." Smug Lily gazed at me, smiling. Now she would talk!

"This awful thing?" Trish regarded it with a wrinkled nose. "A bit gaudy, don't you think? And it's far too big for me."

"Your new boyfriend," I managed. "Robert?"

"Surprise, surprise!" chortled Lily.

Trish gaped. "Is he _your _Robert? Oh, Janine! I had no idea." Lifting the chain from her neck, she removed the ring. "Here, take it." She dropped it in my hand, a true friend. "I've always wanted a brilliant sapphire."

My eyes welled at the shimmering stone. And I threw it away! I had nothing left but my pride.

"Well. That's all very neat," Sherl remarked. "But it doesn't help us with our poisoning situation. Fortunately, Molly and I had anticipated most of this. It wasn't until quite late last night that we realized we had overlooked the most important clue." He watched us carefully as he spoke. "The initial attack wasn't on Mary. It was on John. The would be killer, or actual killer as it turns out, was a patient. Or, to be precise, the daughter of a patient. Trish?"

Not Trish!

"What are you talking about?" she asked with an icy stare.

"Your father was a patient of John's, was he not? A patient who had died of a heart attack some months ago."

"So? He had a weak heart."

"And a greedy daughter. John tells us you've been reporting symptoms of heart failure in your mother. Symptoms she denies. Were you planning a similar fate for her?"

Trish said nothing, but I couldn't keep quiet. "Even if you were right, why would Trish attack John?" I demanded.

John sighed. "She was so insistent. It was odd."

"Trish picked up on John's suspicions and decided he had to go," explained Sherl. "And now-"

"You can't prove anything!" challenged Trish.

"Ah, but I can," Sherl replied. "When I was sprinkling the ash, I also smeared a bit of petroleum jelly on the toiletries, a substance both difficult to remove and fluorescent under ultraviolet light. It's an old trick." He drew a penlight from his pocket. "If you wouldn't mind holding your hand under this-"

"Enough!" shouted Trish, and she seized me- Little me! -hauled me to my feet and jabbed a needle in my neck- The syringe she'd used to inject the arsenic! Where had she kept it? Her thong? Trish snarled, "Do you want to know how I bumped off Dad?"

"You apparently introduced an air bubble into an artery, stopping his heart," answered Sherl.

Trish gripped me tighter. "And I'll do it again-"

POW!

Something hot scorched my cheek, and Trish screamed as the syringe flew through the air. John tackled her.

Readers, it is difficult to say what had happened, exactly. It _seemed _that someone had shot the syringe from Trish's hand, but that was impossible. The only person who had been in the correct position was Mary, and everyone knows women are terrible shots. After a long conversation, I understood that Sherl had made a sound _like _a gunshot, and Trish had dropped the syringe. What a clever man!

Of course, we were immediately overrun with policemen, investigating, dragging a spitting Trish away, all of that. Because I was so distraught, Sherl sat with me during my debriefing interview and helped when I couldn't remember the facts.

The police were still poking round when I found the princess cut ring in the corner and quietly palmed it. There was no reason it should be whisked away in some dreary evidence bag. Sherl, however, spotted me and said, "So you found it."

"It's so beautiful," I sighed sadly, watching it sparkle. "Is it real?"

"It appears that way," he replied, "in the right light."

I sighed again. Would I never have my heart's desire?

"Why not keep it?" he offered. "It was most likely purchased for you. Otherwise the size would have been closer to Trish's."

"You- You're giving me this ring? My princess cut ring!"

"Well, I-"

"Sherl! Does this mean-? Are we-?"

"We're good," answered Sherl, nodding. "You've got your ring. All set."

Yes! Yes! I felt I could fly! Must start right away on the plans! I'd be a June bride- No, Mary had been married in June. August, then. We'd move into my flat- Sherl's was fairly horrid. There was so much to do! Sherl had wandered off to chat with a police officer, but I didn't mind. I- We were getting married!

When the last officer left, it was as though we had all been "set free." John took Lily and Claudette to the station, Mary lay down in the master bedroom, and Sherl and I and Molly as well were in the garden, where Sherl was showing me the finer points of the bee hives. Well, actually, I was contemplating some minor changes in the landscaping- the wedding could be here! -and Sherl and Molly were peering together at the (honestly- rather dull) hives and making incomprehensible jokes.

When Sherl quipped, "Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like bananas," and Molly rejoined with, "Why do chemists like nitrates so much? They're cheaper than day rates," I decided it was time to take a well earned "breather" and left the two alone. It was all right, his spending time with her now; he and I connected on an entirely different plane. I was relaxing on the front porch, when what should speed down the lane and screech to a halt in front of the house but a royal blue Maserati!

Robert leapt out, and I glowered. "You bastard."

"Hullo, Janine. Won't stay. Just here to fetch Trish," he flipped back.

"She's arrested," I told him. "Taken off in cuffs. Killed her own father, didn't she? And she tried to kill me."

"Taken off?" Robert stopped. "Well- I- I came all this way! Why didn't she text?"

"She was busy, getting arrested." It was good to see him flummoxed.

"Well, of all the-" He stopped and glanced at me shyly. "Say, Janine? Could I come in? There now, be a love. Just for a minute. Got to use the loo."

The cheek of him! I was furious, but he looked so forlorn. Against my better judgement, I relented. "All right. Just for a minute."

I went in with him to show him the place and- Dear readers, I would hate to have what happened next be misconstrued. Robert and I- Well. We were very familiar with each other, and I had been under a terrible strain. Quite innocently, we found ourself on the guest room bed (there were no chairs, after all) "déshabillé" (our clothing had got a touch muddy) and Robert was comforting me as only a good friend could, when- Oh! -the bedroom door swung open! Sherl.

He looked startled and disappeared. I wrenched round to follow-"No!" gasped Robert and clutched at me, but I wriggled away (tit for tat!) and told him to wait, I wouldn't be long. I seized my kimono and rushed to Sherl.

My devastated darling was sitting in the sitting room armchair with a slightly stunned expression. He glanced up. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Molly and I were wondering who was here. She is out front, looking after the car."

"Sherl! I'm sorry!"

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" He was so brave!

"Robert's back," I admitted, sadly. "You and I can't be together now."

"No," he answered with a puzzled expression. "I suppose not." Poor man! He was struggling to grasp the heartless nature of a universe that would present him with a longed for bride one moment and snatch her away then next.

Dear readers, it is difficult to describe my turmoil. On the one hand, I was losing a world famous, completely devoted man- a fiancé! -who depended on me. On the other, I was gaining- regaining -a man who loved me dearly, who had shown such tender affection, who was shifting impatiently on the guest bed—

"Might I keep the ring?" I asked, scarcely daring to hope.

"Of course. You deserve it." Sherl gazed at me. "Janine," he said, slowly, and I felt my very heart melt, "It seems we're both a bit involved with others. I propose we be friends, nothing more. That might be best. For everyone."

"All right!" I cried and tripped back to the bedroom.

There, dear readers, you have it. A ring and a sincere proposal from my darling Sherl. It all worked out: he was involved with-devoted to!-his dear friends, John and Mary, and I had my Robert.

Sherl, Molly, John and Mary left soon after. John drove, Mary sat beside him, and Sherl and Molly were tucked into the back seat, talking and laughing, on and on- Rather tiresome, actually. I stayed in my beautiful cottage with dear Robert the entire rollicking weekend. Readers, my dreams had come true! I had a man, a royal blue Maserati, a cottage in Sussex Downs and a princess cut emerald ring. I was a girl content.

* * *

Friends, to make a donation for renovation projects (and to receive some rather interesting pictures), please log onto my webpage: Janines_Beautiful_ . Major credit cards and Paypal accepted. Let's make this "our" cottage.

XXXXX

If you enjoyed these Chronicles, I highly recommend Little Me by Patrick Dennis, the work from which this was inspired (okay-shamelessly stolen). It is twice as risqué and four times as funny. -AS2000

PS-Those of you confused by the reference to Janine's webpage, Fanfiction truncates the addresses of webpages to protect people's privacy and to prevent solicitation. I told this to Janine, and she sacked me (don't fret- she always has me back within the week. I took a nice holiday on the beach). Ah, well. She'll finagle the money some how. If not, you all will be seeing more of these Chronicles, and God help us all. -AS2000


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